Stellar Fox (Castle Federation Book 2)

by Glynn Stewart

  He barely prevented himself from sitting bolt upright in his chair as his attempt to access their orders hit a brick wall. He was locked out by the Admiral’s seal – part of the Level One security?

  As Captain, Kyle was supposed to control that. Poking at the locks, however, he’d rapidly confirmed that it had been done as a Battle Group Counter Intelligence lockdown, with Tobin as the only person with access. Kyle was unable to access communications on his own ship, and a sinking feeling took hold of his guts.

  This whole trip was going to hell in a handbasket. First the assassination attempts, then the bombing of Kematian, then more assassination attempts – and now a mission of outright revenge, taken as black as the system could go.

  It was a long way from what he’d hoped for in his first real command. Arguing with the Admiral was probably pointless.

  He needed a drink.

  14:40 January 15, 2736 ESMDT

  DSC-078 Avalon, Observation Deck

  “What, are you making a habit of receiving wine bottles from thankful heads of state?” Stanford asked as he entered the observation deck and saw Kyle waiting for him with a bottle of wine.

  “This one is mine,” Kyle replied. “All I got from Ingolfson was the electronic equivalent of a ‘thank you’ card – the man is strangely busy for the head of government of a newly liberated planet.”

  “And one who we are basically leaving to the wolves with a pointy stick,” Solace observed as she joined the two men.

  The CAG glanced over at the Captain and the XO, and Kyle poured three glasses of wine with a wink at his friend.

  “If you two are down here, who’s flying this crate?” Stanford asked.

  “Fleet Commander Maria Pendez is an extremely competent officer who is very able to hold down the watch on her own,” Kyle said virtuously. “And if anything more dangerous than an Alcubierre-Stetson entrance comes up, and she somehow feels overly intimidated,” he shrugged and tapped his temple, “I’m only a thought away.”

  Stanford shook his head and took the wine. Kyle knew the smaller man was more empathetic than he sometimes pretended and had probably guessed his Captain needed a drink and a friend.

  “To Alizon,” Kyle toasted, raising his glass to the other two officers. “May they stay well free of Terra’s long shadow.”

  They drank. The wine Kyle had poached from the officer’s lounge via the weight of the gold planet on his collar was not great, but it served the purpose today.

  He realized with a minor start that it was the first time he’d ever seen his XO drink anything alcoholic at all. Something seemed to have shifted between him and Senior Fleet Commander Mira Solace at some point in the headlong pursuit of Triumphant. He wasn’t entirely sure what, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t something he should think on too hard.

  She noticed him noticing the drink and winked at him.

  “I’m not on duty, Kyle,” she pointed out. “You can complain about my ‘drunken ways’ later.”

  He no longer had the ability to search and cross-reference reports at a thought he’d once had, but his implant interface bandwidth remained sufficient to match the clear quote with Captain Haliburt’s evaluation report.

  Kyle winced. Now he understood why she didn’t drink in front of her Captain. In amidst all of the other specious accusations the first Captain she’d XOed under had leveled in that garbage report, he’d barely registered the alcoholism complaint.

  “I never added those particular puzzle pieces together,” he admitted aloud. “My apologies, Mira.”

  She chuckled softly and gestured for him to refill her glass.

  “It took me a while, but I’m reasonably sure you’re not Haliburt at this point,” she noted.

  “Speaking of… individuals of questionable judgment,” Stanford interjected. “Am I the only one uncomfortable with leaving Alizon uncovered?”

  “I wasn’t just playing devil’s advocate this morning,” Solace pointed out. “This really is a situation where the Admiral should be using his own judgment and waiting.

  “I want Richardson dead as much as anyone else,” she continued, her eyes suddenly very dark and very flat, “but we can’t leave an entire planet swinging in the breeze.”

  “High Command orders and even Admirals usually obey,” Kyle reminded her. “But… Tobin wouldn’t have disobeyed regardless. I’m not sure he’s being entirely rational about Triumphant. This seems a lot more personal than it should be.”

  “We watched half a world die,” Stanford said harshly. “I think it’s a little Voids-cursed personal.”

  “No argument,” Kyle agreed. “But with everything going on, I’m getting an uncomfortable itch between my shoulder blades – and not just because I’m sleeping on a mediocre cot in my office.

  “Keep your eyes and ears open. Barsamian has half of the damn Marines on rotation watching my back, but our Terran agent went for Michael already.”

  He shook his head, eyeing his two key subordinates – and friends.

  “With most of our Marines on Alizon, we can’t put you two under guard, but Gods know I’d like to,” he admitted. “If anything strange turns up, I need to know about it.”

  The other two exchanged a glance – a type of glance he was familiar with from being a battlecruiser CAG. It meant something had been discussed that the Captain shouldn’t know… and that maybe the Captain now should.

  “There’s definitely been something strange going on,” Solace admitted with a sigh. “We could never pin down anything solid, just rumors, but ever since the Admiral’s staff came aboard…”

  She laid out in precise detail everything they’d heard about Sanchez’s sounding people out to Kyle’s slowly growing sense of unease.

  “You’re right,” he finally agreed, “I can’t move on this. It’s just rumors. What I can do is order you both to draw weapons from the Armory. Mira – find staff on the bridge watches you trust implicitly and encourage them to do the same. Michael – Rokos and some of the others at least have range time as well as known loyalties. I want you to start putting together a team out of your enlisted.”

  “What kind of team are we talking here?” Stanford asked slowly, carefully.

  “A counter-mutiny team.”

  Chapter 35

  Deep Space, en route to Barsoom System

  08:00 January 16, 2736 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time

  DSC-078 Avalon, Flight Briefing Room

  The preflight briefing room crowd Michael had gathered via conversations, in-system meeting invites, and other mostly quiet methods was sparser than he’d have liked. After a few minutes of soul-searching the previous day, he’d restricted himself almost entirely to old hands.

  Key among the group were Wing Commander Russell Rokos and Master Chief Petty Officer Marshall Hammond. Rokos might have been the most junior Wing Commander in Starfighter Group Zero-Zero-One, but he was the most senior person in the room after Michael himself.

  Hammond, on the other hand, even wounded was the most senior NCO in the Space Force aboard. He knew everyone in the Group. If there was someone Michael would trust to know who else to drag into their little ‘team,’ it would be Hammond.

  “All right people,” Michael said loudly, stepping up to the front of the room. As his people turned to him, almost every eye in the room went to him – and then to his hip. To his knowledge, no one in the room had ever seen him armed. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the seven millimeter automatic the Federation Navy and Space Force used as a standard sidearm, but he was at least qualified on the weapon.

  “All right,” he repeated. “As you may have guessed, this meeting isn’t exactly on the books, and the selection criteria isn’t particularly formal. For anyone who hasn’t picked up on at least the first one, everyone in this room was at Tranquility.”

  That silenced the remaining conversations and fidgeting.

  “You’re here because I trust you, and the Captain trusts you,” he said simply. “I’m sure t
he rumor mill has been working overtime on the ship for the last few weeks, so I’m going to give you some of the details behind those rumors.

  “Firstly, yes, there was an attempt to assassinate me, and two attempts to murder Captain Roberts,” Michael said bluntly. “This is why we’re on a communications lockdown. The Captain and the Admiral both feel that we likely have a Commonwealth spy on board.”

  “Is that why you’re armed?” Flight Lieutenant Ivan Kovalchick asked. The dark-haired young man looked nervous. Michael knew him well – Kovalchick had been under Michael’s command the entirety of the younger man’s career. Nervousness wouldn’t stop him doing what he thought was right.

  “The last attack on the Captain was the most blatant yet,” Michael replied. “At this point, we face the possibility of our spy accelerating their actions and moving to direct attacks. We are, after all, five days from Barsoom.”

  “But you’re not putting together this little conspiracy because of a spy,” Rokos pointed out, the big Wing Commander leaning forward at the front of the room. “How much insanity is going on on this ship, boss?”

  “Too much,” the CAG told him. “We definitely have a spy aboard. We’re also in complete communications lockdown under the Admiral’s seal. We’re on a mission that no one is even pretending isn’t outright revenge anymore.

  “Last, but by no means least, are the rumors coming to my ears of a potential mutiny.”

  There. He’d finally said it aloud, to his people. In a sense, saying that one word was crossing the Rubicon – once the senior officers of the ship started acting to curtail mutiny, a lot of questions would get asked when the dust settled.

  “All we are going on is rumors,” he carefully clarified, “but they’re consistent and coming from all three services aboard Avalon. These rumors accused Senior Fleet Commander Sanchez of sounding out personnel about their loyalties, looking for people loyal to the Federation or the Admiral above the Captain.

  “This is worrying as Void,” Michael continued. “Perhaps more so because despite looking, and despite the rumors reaching our senior NCOs’ ears,” he nodded to Hammond, “getting more common, we have confirmed nothing.

  “We took all of this, the rumors, our fears, our lack of evidence, to Captain Roberts yesterday. He feels… some degree of precaution is necessary.

  “You are in this room because I trust you – and because you are rated in the use of shipboard small arms,” he told them. “We have no idea what the mutineers plan might be – Void, we aren’t even sure there is actually a mutiny.

  “The immediate precaution is to prepare a small force of people we can trust and make sure they have the equipment they need,” he gestured around the room. “Chief Hammond – with you on medical leave, I suspect you can sneak a few quiet meetings in without being noticed. I want you to coordinate with Kalers, the Gunny and the Bosun to have arms lockers added to the flight deck and locations of your choosing in Flight Country. The access codes are to be distributed to everyone in this room.

  “The XO is pulling together a similar team of personnel from the shipboard side. Once we’ve established everything, we’ll have you all added to a hidden com network in the ship’s systems. If one of the senior officers or NCOs believes a mutiny has begun, we will transmit the code phrase ‘Guinevere’ over that network.

  “Once you receive that message, we will need to draw arms and wait for instructions,” Michael said in a rush of breath. “Hopefully, we will be in a position to coordinate efforts and neutralize any attempted mutiny quickly. If we cannot pass on instructions, I’ll need this group to secure the flight deck and make certain that we remain in control of the starfighters.”

  The crowd in front of him was very quiet, and Michael scanned their faces. No one looked guilty, or unwilling – just shocked and concerned. Some fear. That was to be expected.

  “I’m not going to order you to be involved in this,” he told them quietly. “I’m not worried about anyone in this room joining a mutiny or even warning the mutineers, so if you want to just carry on… the door’s behind you.”

  To his surprise, no one left.

  11:00 January 16, 2736 ESMDT

  DSC-078 Avalon, Captain’s Break-out Room

  Lieutenant Major Sirvard Barsamian, Kyle noted, was starting to look less nervous at giving presentations in the little conference room attached to the Captain’s office. She faced the small gathering – Kyle, Solace, Tobin and Sanchez – calmly.

  “We’ve reviewed all camera footage from the twelve hours prior to the attack on Captain Roberts,” she told them quietly. “As I mentioned to the Captain before, the cameras in the section his quarters were shutdown prior to the attack, but I’d hoped to pick up footage of the drone somewhere else on the ship.”

  She shook her head with a frustrated expression.

  “We’ve had no luck whatsoever,” she admitted. “Whoever our attacker is, they appear to have complete access to many of our systems – more complete than I have. I have to confess, sirs, that I have no idea how anyone could have this level of access.

  “This isn’t just viruses or access codes,” Barsamian continued. “Even if someone had, say Captain Roberts’ authorization codes, they couldn’t pull this off without leaving traces. This is… someone with Command level codes, top-tier viral software, and a level of knowledge of the system architecture involved no Commonwealth agent should have. If Commonwealth Intelligence was this good, I’d expect the war to be over already!”

  “So the surveillance footage is a bust,” Kyle said. “That’s… frustrating. What do you have, Lieutenant Major?”

  “The drone itself, sir,” she answered. “The computer core is useless. The damage that rendered it non-functional saved Captain Roberts’ life, but also left us unable to extract any data. I have the drone under guard and my forensics team is going over it in detail.

  “We already know it was manufactured in an auto-fabricator aboard Avalon,” she warned them. “What we’re trying to do, which will take time, is see if we can identify the exact fabricator that was used. While we have no record in the system of the drone being built, there are a number of things we can examine to try to identify our spy once we’re looking at the source.”

  “Have you tried looking for other blank spots in the camera footage?” Solace asked.

  “Unfortunately, it appears that whatever tool the spy is using is causing the footage to report as being present and functional to all searches – until someone actually tries to view the video, we can’t tell it isn’t there,” the Ship’s Marshal replied. “It’s damned sneaky, and even full AI protocol defense programs are failing to find whatever is doing it.”

  “I get the feeling our spy is several steps ahead of us,” Kyle said grumpily. “That’s no reflection on you, Major. We’re dealing with someone very professional and disturbingly well-informed on our systems and our counterintelligence procedures.

  “We should have enough data to identify the fabricator inside the few next few days,” Barsamian promised. “I wish I had more to tell you all. I expect to have a briefing of some kind before we reach Barsoom.”

  “Thank you, Major,” Kyle replied. “Keep in close coordination with Master Sergeant Peng Wa and Senior Fleet Commander Solace,” he ordered. “I don’t want you carrying out any investigations without backup, do you hear me? This whole mess is making me twitchy.”

  He glanced over at Tobin and Sanchez.

  “We have some ship business to discuss with the Marshal as well,” he told them. “I’m sure you have other tasks to get to if you want to leave us to it.”

  Theoretically, even the ship’s Captain couldn’t dismiss the Admiral. In practice, however, even Admirals could take polite hints.

  #

  By the time Sanchez and Tobin had left, leaving Barsamian alone with Kyle and Solace, the Ship’s Marshal’s admirable calm at facing her superiors was starting to crack. She remained standing, straight-backed, but Kyle saw her gaze da
rting from side to side, like an animal for an escape.

  “Take a seat, Lieutenant Major,” he ordered. “This is in the order of a more… informal conversation than most. Coffee? Beer?”

  “You realize absolutely none of your officers are going to accept a beer while on duty, right?” Solace asked him.

  “Coffee, sir,” Barsamian said quietly as she took the proffered seat. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll point out, Commander Solace, that the CAG does occasionally,” Kyle told his XO. Nonetheless, he poured a new coffee for Barsamian and refreshed his and Solace’s. There might be a mini-fridge stocked with beer in his office, but he didn’t drink on duty any more than his staff did.

  “That’s because Michael can tell between when you’re joking, when you’re rewarding someone, and when you’re about to hang someone out to dry,” she pointed out. “The rest of us aren’t quite so skilled yet.”

  Kyle shook his head at Solace, then returned his attention to Barsamian.

  “I presume, Sirvard, that you’ve heard the rumors of certain individuals engaging in actions that could be… uncharitably considered precursors to mutiny,” he stated. “I am now officially informing you that I have grounds for suspicion of mutiny.”

  Barsamian inhaled sharply, and he nodded firmly. Once that status was declared and confirmed by the Executive Officer, what Kyle could order done expanded dramatically.

  “What do you need me to do?” she asked levelly. That was impressive in and of itself, given the magnitude of Kyle’s words.

  “For the moment, keep an ear to the ground, and keep a weapon to hand,” Kyle ordered. “Master Sergeant Wa is already aware of the situation. Make sure the Marines you trust are briefed, and aware of the concern.

  “Our Commonwealth spy, aggravating as they are, gives us an excuse to post guards on key sections of the ship,” he continued. “Use it. I want sentries on engineering, the bridge, and Secondary Control.”